


Make It Better (If I Could)

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Tag: 2x04, F/M, Fever, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 07:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16013147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: It's strange, seeing her so helpless. Even the day before, when her heart was shattered, she'd been fierce and unyielding, commanding the team with the confidence of a noble queen. Now, she whimpers in her sleep, and he winces.-Post-Salem, Flynn takes it upon himself to care for a feverish Lucy.





	Make It Better (If I Could)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TwilightDeviant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwilightDeviant/gifts).



> This is a very overdue gift for TwilightDeviant, who was kind enough to transcribe the sneak peek of Lucy and Flynn's "awkward moment" for me when it came out. Thank you so much!
> 
> For everyone else, I hope you enjoy, also!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but my ideas.

This wouldn't have happened if they'd just let him stitch her up.

(Of course, he doesn't know if that's true. Agent Christopher assures him that the doctor she snuck into the facility is incredibly skilled, and that this was just an unfortunate accident. She's probably right. But Lucy is hurting, and if that doctor was here right now... Oh, the things Flynn would do.)

At least they have the sense not to argue when he says he'll take care of her. Wyatt scowls, but there isn't much he can do without his wife noticing, and the poor woman already looks half-ready to bolt.

So now, he presses a damp rag to her forehead, alone in the room she and Jiya share. She's unconscious, of course, but she leans into his hand, instinctively seeking the comfort.

It's strange, seeing her so helpless. Even the day before, when her heart was shattered, she'd been fierce and unyielding, commanding the team with the confidence of a noble queen. Now, she whimpers in her sleep, and he winces. Impulsively, he takes his free hand, and brushes a lock of hair out of her face. She stirs, just briefly, and he stills his hand against her cheek. Hardly daring to breathe.

"Hmm..." Eyes still mostly closed, she casts around until her hand closes over his wrist, and a soft smile tugs at her lips. Warmth curls around the heart they say he doesn't have, and he doesn't fight his own smile.

"Wyatt?"                                                    

Ice washes over him, and he wills himself not to snatch his hand away. Of course Wyatt is the one she's reaching for. Wyatt, down the hall, begging his dead wife for another chance. Wyatt, who stopped by exactly once to check on Lucy. The others have been in and out dozens of times.

Exhaling slowly, he strokes her cheek, slipping into his American accent. "I'm here," he murmurs. “I’m here.”

If Wyatt's presence is the comfort she needs, he'll offer the best he can.

She stills at his words, frowning, but the fever seems to pull her back in, and her hand falls away. Truly asleep once more, than.

He bows his head, takes a steadying breath, and centers himself. This is what he expects. What he deserves. This is fine.

Then, he dips the rag into the cool water, and presses it to her forehead once again.

-

Jiya comes in half an hour later, exhaustion clear on her face. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and her shoulders sag. Nonetheless, she studies Lucy in open concern. "How is she?"

"Better, I think," he answers honestly, and relief flickers in the younger woman's eyes.

"That's good." She turns to go, then falters, turning back to him. It's more than a little unnerving, the way she looks him over, brows furrowing. He can only imagine what he looks like; he still hasn't changed from their adventure in Salem, and he's pretty sure he hasn't slept since then, either. Finally, she clears her throat. "How are you?"

The sincerity in her voice catches him off guard. He's not foolish enough to think that anyone but Lucy actually wants him to be there, and moreover, he doesn't particularly care. But then, Jiya has always been too compassionate for her own good. The journal speaks often of her selflessness and kindness.

Glancing back at Lucy, he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'll be better when she's awake," he admits finally. He's not sure why he says it, except that he thinks she might be the only one in the bunker who would actually believe it.

She nods, turning back to her friend, and a tear trickles down her cheek. "We all will," she murmurs. She turns again to leave, and for a long moment, he considers letting her go, but she reached out to him, and somehow, he thinks he knows what Lucy would want him to do.

"And you?" She pauses, but doesn't look back, and he clarifies, "All... This..." He gestures to her, though she can't see. "I don't think this is all about Lucy. Is it?"

At first, he thinks she isn't going to answer. Shoulders set, she resolutely refuses to face him. Wraps arms tightly around herself with a shake of her head.

He clears his throat. "Rufus?" A nod, and just when he's starting to think he'll have to have this whole conversation on his own, she speaks.

"We had... A fight."

Obviously, he thinks, but bites his tongue. After a moment's consideration, he ventures, "About that man in Salem? The Puritan?"

Finally, she turns to him, frowning. "How did you-?"

"Rufus told me and Lucy all about your new... ability," he explains, a bit of sarcasm slipping in unbidden. Her eyes narrow, but he holds up his hands placatingly, and she huffs, but doesn't interrupt. "It can't be easy for Rufus. Man knows how to blame himself for everything. It's not exactly surprising that he blames himself for fate."

She makes a choked sound that was probably meant to be a laugh, and a few more tears slip down her face. "Actually, I'm pretty sure he blames me." Her voice breaks on the words, and she frantically tries to wipe her face.

Of course, they'll work this out. The journal often calls them one of the healthiest couples Lucy knows, and talks about how well they handle fights. But in the meantime...

"In that case, would you like me to have a word with him?"

Her mouth falls open in horror, and he lets the corner of his mouth curl into a smirk, so that she knows he's (mostly, probably,) kidding. She lets out a startled giggle, and shakes her head.

"No, thanks. I'm good."

He shrugs, as if to say, 'Your loss,' and turns his attention back to Lucy. Her fever is lower than before, but she still isn't anywhere close to out of the woods. It's terrifying, just a bit, and for a moment, all he can see is Lorena, falling before him, Iris, in her bedroom, Rittenhouse agents everywhere-

"Go." Jiya's voice is sudden and firm, and he glances at her, silently warning her not to push. Of course, she ignores this. "Just... Shower. Eat something. Then you can come back here." She fixes him with a stare. "You can't help her if you don't take care of yourself."

She's right, of course, but the thought of leaving Lucy alone turns his stomach.

As if reading his mind, Jiya adds, "I'll stay with her. Go. Shoo."

Reluctantly, he nods, drawing himself up from the cold metal chair he's been sitting in, and gives her a look that he hopes she understands as gratitude.

Somehow, he thinks she does.

-

Not that he'll admit it, but he does feel better with clean clothes, and food in his system. Of course. He doesn't tell Jiya this, but he doesn't have to, even as she smiles and leaves him with Lucy.

He settles back into the uncomfortable chair, takes the rag, and presses it to Lucy's forehead.

Once again, she stirs, and his breath catches. Her eyes flutter open, still glazed and distant, but it's a relief, all the same. "Lucy?"

Too late, he realizes that he didn't disguise his accent, but she doesn't seem upset. "Flynn," she murmurs. "Hmm.... S'cold."

"I know, draga, I know," he whispers, the endearment slipping out unbidden. He tugs the blanket up around her, even though he knows she'll be kicking it off in minutes. "Rest now, hm? It'll be better when you wake up."

"You're warm," she says softly, catching his free hand with hers, tugging it toward her face. He obeys her silent request, cupping her cheek, and she smiles. "So warm."

Then, she's drifting off once more.

He doesn't pull his hand away.

-

When she finally wakes, he isn't there. The Mothership jumps, and with Lucy out for the count, they need help. He's sorely tempted to tell them to go without him anyway, but he can almost hear her scolding him, so with Jiya left watching over her, he vanishes back into the past.

It's far later, after they've returned a young JFK to his home, that they talk. They've been watching an old movie for close to an hour, and he's starting to think that she isn't going to say anything, when- "Jiya said that you took care of me while I was out."

Of course she did. "She helped," he points out, and she glances at him pointedly. Unable to deny her, he sighs. "But yes, I... Did what I could."

She hums, turning back to the movie. "Thank you."

"Anytime." He doesn't mean to say it, but it slips out anyway, a quiet confession hanging in the air. Every ounce of anger he's tried to muster toward her is long gone, lost in the wake of her latest devastation, and all he wants to do is make things better.

She lost her love, just as he once lost his.

Now he wants to help her, the way that she helped him.

(And it isn’t the same thing, not exactly. He knows this. Would never wish that on her, no matter how angry he is at Wyatt. But a broken heart is a broken heart. Loneliness is loneliness. And if he can pay back even a little of what she gave him-what she will give him, one day-he will do it.)

Unsurprisingly, she doesn't respond. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, careful not to let her see. She looks exhausted, in more ways than one, and he's struck with the desire to gather her up in his arms, to hold her until she falls asleep, there on the couch with him.

He forces his gaze back to the television, firmly shutting down those thoughts. Tries to remember her quietly begging for Wyatt, in her feverish state.

Then, her head comes to rest on his shoulder, and his mind goes blank.

She's tense, as if she's half expecting him to pull away, to question it, to- _something,_ he isn't sure, but regardless, he won't do it. Just shifts a little, giving her a better angle.

"You're warm," she says, almost defiantly. Daring him to comment.

"And it does feel a bit like Antarctica down here." He keeps his tone light. Conversational. Reassuring her without saying as much that he isn't reading too much into it. (Far be it from him to judge her for needing a little human contact right now.) "If they can afford to charge that garbage ship in there, you'd think they could spring for a heater."

She laughs once, softly, and relaxes against him. It feels... Nice. (Maybe he needs some human contact, too.)

No more words are said that night, as movie after movie plays. None are needed. They stay there, soaking in each other's presence, until the early hours of the morning. Then she pulls herself up, brushes herself off, and goes to bed.

He follows suit. Lays his head on his pillow, and closes his eyes, the exhaustion from the past few days finally catching up with him.  _Everything will be better in the morning,_ he thinks, and it's almost his last thought before he falls asleep.

His very last is this: his shirt smells like her now.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I wrote probably 80% of this in one setting, right after she gave me the prompt. The other 20% fought me kicking and screaming.
> 
> Fun fact #2: I did not expect to spend a whole section of my Garcy fic building the Jiya/Flynn friendship, but there you go! I don't regret it, because that's a fun dynamic to write. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! I hoard reviews like a fanfiction dragon!


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